


If Angels Can Fall

by Imperfect_Sentence



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Dream Sex, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Sex (Star Wars), Obsession, Oral Sex, Pining, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 09:06:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9065245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imperfect_Sentence/pseuds/Imperfect_Sentence
Summary: The dreams keep coming. Stronger and more vivid each night. Rey keeps her face pressed into the pillow for fear of the sounds she might make. The words, the names, she might say.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this just happened... Pretty sure I'm going straight to hell but I have an unhealthy obsession with unhealthy relationships (in fic) and whatever this is has them in spades. 
> 
> Fic is unbetaed so I'm keen to come back for a re-read in a week or so to tidy it up but figured I should just get it out there so I can stop mulling over it. Enjoy!

_“Lust and force are the source of all our actions; lust causes voluntary actions, force involuntary ones.” – Blaise Pascal_

* * *

 The first time Rey sees Luke Skywalker she’s in awe of his brightness. He’s an old man, certainly, but there’s light in his eyes. Kindness. Intelligence. He doesn’t need to ask her who she is, or what she’s doing. He knows. She knows he knows.

But when she holds out his lightsaber to him, a shadow slides across his face: the bloodshed and carnage that resulted the last time he encouraged another to follow in his footsteps weigh heavily on his mind. For a moment, she thinks he might tell her to leave, tell her he wants no part in her destiny, the universe’s destiny. But he doesn’t.

“Hold onto it,” he tells her, his voice rusty from disuse. “You’ll need it.”

*

Luke brings Rey to his home: a tiny stone cabin at the edge of the clearing, not far from where she found him. The cabin only has two rooms but it’s still more comfortable and spacious than the AT-AT she once called home. 

“You built this yourself?” she asks, impressed.

“Yes,” he mumbles. “The Force… It helps and it hinders.”

He offers her his cot but she refuses so he makes up a bed for her on the floor of the living area and gives her the best pillows, the warmest blankets. He then offers her some clean white robes to change into but she decides to keep her faded grey tunic and breeches.

“They’re more comfortable,” she assures him.

He nods but doesn’t say anything.

Nevertheless, when she sleeps that night she can’t help breathing in the scent of him thick in the bedding: musky and male and something that reminds her of cloudy days.

It’s the fastest she’s fallen asleep in weeks.

*

But this sleep is not a peaceful one.

Rey dreams in flashes: flame and heat and the colour red, all stark in the darkness. Her skin is too tight for her body and she can feel a burning rope in the pit of her stomach. The rope becomes a knot and she can feel it pulling tighter and tighter until the fire within her starts grow, start to spread and, Force, she’s burning, she’s dying, only she wants to die, wants to explode, and she’s close, so close –

She wakes with a start, chest heaving, loose tendrils of hair sticking to her forehead and the nape of her neck. She clutches her breast, feeling her heart pounding, her blood bubbling, as if she’s been poisoned. It’s only once she has taken a few deep breaths that she notices the heady smell of her own desire and the slickness between her legs.

Disgusted and confused, she rolls over and tries to fall back asleep. Tries to ignore the tension in her belly. The bone-deep hunger in her soul.

*

In the morning, Rey finds Luke outside cooking breakfast over an open fire. The air is crisp and cold but she barely notices. The heat from her dreams hasn’t dissipated. If anything, it’s gotten worse. 

Luke hands her a steaming bowl of fruit and oats. His fingers brush hers and she can’t help trembling at how cool they are against her overheated skin.

“You’re sweating,” he comments, touching his good hand to her forehead and frowning when it comes away damp. “Are you feeling OK?”

Embarrassed, Rey nods too quickly. “I’m fine.”

Something flickers in the old man’s blue eyes but he doesn’t push the subject.

The first bite of the fruit is sickly sweet.

*

The dreams keep coming. Stronger and more vivid each night. Rey keeps her face pressed into the pillow for fear of the sounds she might make. The words, the names, she might say.

She no longer smells Luke’s scent in the bedding but it doesn’t escape her that he’s right there in the next room, just behind the wall. What would he – a Jedi, surely celibate and pure – think if he knew how she longed for the touch of another? If he knew how she _burned_ for it?

Face red with shame, she presses her sticky thighs together, refusing to let her hands drift below the blankets.

*

Training offers some respite.

Rey is a talented fighter and that makes her difficult to teach. She is used to relying on her own strength, her own reflexes, and so often forgets to engage the Force while sparring with Luke or completing whatever exercise or task he has seen fit to assign her. When he chides her to slow down, to feel, to simply be, it frustrates her. Only frustration is good because it’s distracting and if she’s distracted –

Luke employs some obscure Jedi mind trick and throws her on her arse. The breath rushes out of her in a whoosh. Her tailbone aches.

“You’re not paying attention,” scolds Luke.

He reaches out his prosthetic hand to her and hauls her to her feet so quickly she overbalances and falls into him. The scent of him is the first thing that hits her: the same as that first night only stronger as if the clouds have darkened to that of an impending storm. She can’t help taking a deep, shuddering breath. 

Luke shoves her backwards, not hard but not gently either. He’s still holding her hand and the metal is cold against her sweaty palm. 

“You mustn’t lose focus,” he says, but for a split second his gaze drifts from her eyes to her mouth and she is no longer sure whether he’s speaking to her or himself. 

*

The first time she dreams of Kylo Ren she has almost resigned herself to it.

Indeed, if Rey’s honest with herself, ever since he strapped her to the interrogation rack and forced his way into her mind – and she into his – she has felt him there, lingering at the edge of her consciousness. Their meeting like this, face to face, if only in a dream, therefore seems inevitable. Still, she can’t help the bile that rises up her throat at the face of Han’s killer.

“Don’t be afraid.” Kylo Ren's voice is low and smouldering like molten lava, like hellfire. “I feel it too.”

He steps closer to her, his black robes swirling behind him like a ghost, like a demon, until he’s standing over her. His eyes are dark, bottomless pools and the jagged scar she gave him is stark against his pallor. She can feel the heat radiating off him and her body responds in kind. They’re both breathing too quickly: scarcely a breath apart on the precipice of damnation and she wants him closer, needs him closer, but this is wrong, he is wrong, and she can’t, she won’t –

He touches his gloved thumb to her lips and a tremor runs through her. She can tell he’s as disgusted and confused as she is but he’s mesmerised by her and she by him, and she can’t help the way her eyes slide shut, the way she leans into him.

“Would one taste really be so bad?” His breath is scorching in her ear, lips ghosting over the shell.

She opens her mouth. Lets the pad of his thumb press inside, the tang of the leather bitter on her tongue.

*

Rey wakes to the sound of Luke’s bedroom door snapping shut. She is suddenly aware of her thumb in her mouth and her hand, her traitorous hand, jammed in her sleeping pants, fingers pressed tight against her throbbing core.

She _burns_ with mortification. With shame.

With unfulfilled desire.

*

They don’t talk about it but Rey feels Luke’s eyes on her more and more each day, the blue bubbling like water too close to a flame. His touches start to linger, start to heat, but every time she catches him, he shies away; and she feels awful for doing this to him, for testing him, for torturing him, but she can’t help it: she’s got an itch she can’t scratch and it’s dark and hot and _wrong_ and she doesn’t know what to do... 

*

“Why are you doing this to me?”

Rey glares at Kylo Ren standing across from her in this liminal space between imagination and reality. He looks worse than the last time she saw him: desperate and hungry, dark eyes wild, inky black hair sticking to his forehead and the nape of his neck, and she knows she can’t look much better. The sight of him makes her mouth water and she hates him. She _hates_ him.

“It’s a Force bond,” he grumbles in response. “It’s much your fault as it is mine.”

“Make it go away.” Her voice rises with mounting desperation and panic. _“Make it go away!”_

Her words break something in him. He hesitates for a second, his mouth opening and closing, but then he's taking three big steps towards her and the gap closes between them. He grabs hold of her shoulders and his mouth is on hers and hers is on his and it’s fire and brimstone as if the devil has covered them gasoline and lit a match, and they’re in hell – they must be – only it hurts so bad, so _good_ , and who were they kidding?

One taste was never going to be enough.

*

Rey is too jittery to train. Too wrung out.

She decides to go for a walk. For hours, she treks up and down the mountain until her lungs burn and her legs ache with exertion. Her heels are blistering but she welcomes the pain. Surely, given what she’s done, she deserves it?

_What are you thinking fraternising with the enemy? You’re a disgrace!_

Just as the sun begins to set, she comes across wild mushrooms sprouting from a crack between the rocks: three of them in a tight cluster, their speckled red caps straining towards what’s left of the sun. Without thinking, she bends down to pluck the biggest one. It’s thick, fleshy stalk separates easily from the moist earth. She lifts it to her nose and inhales. Beneath the dirt, it smells bitter like leather. She almost laughs.

“Those ones are poison.”

Rey swings around and finds Luke watching her, his faded white robes catching in the wind. His pupils look huge in the low light and she can see only the smallest ring of blue.

“But they’re beautiful,” she says bitterly.

She squeezes the mushroom until it’s mush in her palm.

*

There’s no running water on the island but there is a waterfall.

Rey hunches in the icy pool at the base of the cascade just out of reach of the spray. Teeth chattering, she splashes water on her thin, goose-fleshed arms and between her legs before reaching for the soap. No matter how hard she scrubs she never feels clean these days. It’s as if the poison has entered her bloodstream. 

Nevertheless, she scrubs until her skin is raw. Until she’s shaking so much she can hardly stand.

*

Kylo Ren fucks Rey from behind, hard and fast, his much larger frame curled over hers so that he’s inside and outside and everywhere at once. One big hand is curled around her neck and his mouth is right by her ear, his breath like a brand over her cheek.

“Tell me where you are, little desert rat,” he growls, pulling her harder against him, his knuckles white on her hip. “Tell me.”

“No,” she whimpers, shaking her head. “I can’t.”

He tightens his grip on her throat and she can hardly breathe. But the lack of oxygen only enhances the sensation. She likes it when it hurts.

“Can’t or won’t?” he grits in her ear. 

“I won’t.”

The hand on her hip snakes down between her legs to where they are joined, to where she is sopping wet with their exertion, their mutual desire. When his fingers find her swollen clit and start to move it’s as if he’s ratcheted up the temperature and she’s glad she can’t see his face because she thinks this time she might actually break, might actually explode –

Only nothing happens. It never does.

She wakes up and screams into her pillow.

*

She’s well past shame now.

Curled up in bed in the predawn light, Rey waits until she hears Luke tiptoe outside to light the fire for breakfast. All the pent up emotions – desire, lust, sexual frustration – that have been plaguing her since the bond formed are like dynamite in her belly and if she doesn’t do something about them _right now_ she thinks she might go mad.

Quiet as a hushed thought, she slips her hand beneath the waistband of her sleeping pants and between her legs. Already she’s on a knife’s edge: dripping down her thighs and throbbing, readier than she’s ever been. The first touch of her fingers to her clit is maddening: she can’t help her sharp intake of breath, the way her hips cant, her whole body shaking.

Too far gone to tease, she sets a quick and brutal pace: tight circles round and round, and the wet sounds are loud and obscene in her ears only she doesn’t care because the flame within her has become an inferno and she’s rising upwards, straining towards her peak, and she’s almost got it this time, almost, she’s close, so close, oh Force, _please_ –

A sudden _loud_ yelp from outside startles her. She rips her hand from her pants and huddles beneath the blankets, trying to calm her breathing, her heart, her _kriffing_ mind.

Just like that, the moment's gone.

With a broken, pitiful noise, Rey flings off the blankets and drags herself out of bed. Blood boiling, she stumbles out the door, ready to yell and scream and rip the head off whoever dared disturb her.

But it’s Luke. Of course, it’s Luke. Who else would it be?

“What’s happened?” she pants, eyes darting left and right and taking in the sight of steaming fruit and oats splattered across the ground.

“Accidentally touched the hot pot,” winces Luke, clutching his good hand to his chest and making a point of avoiding her too hot gaze. “It’s fine.”

Rey rolls her eyes. Marches over and snatches up his injured hand in hers. “Let me see.”

The world stops but it’s only when the first rays of sunlight illuminate the glistening smear she leaves across his blistering palm that she realises, with mounting horror, what she has done. She drops his hand immediately, her mouth opening and closing, but he knows. She knows he knows.

“Rey…” he starts, his voice so broken she can scarcely make sense of it.

She runs.

*

Kylo Ren is waiting for Rey at the top of the mountain. He’s not physically there, of course, but he might as well be.

“Tell me where you are,” he demands for the hundredth time, the thousandth time, his arms twining around her from behind, his nose ghosting up the column of her neck. “Let me be your teacher. Together we could be great. Unstoppable. Unimaginable.”

“Why don’t you just come home to us? To me?” She hates the desperation in her voice. The pleading. She can feel tears burning in her eyes.

“You know I can’t,” he says almost bitterly.

“Can’t or won’t?”

He doesn’t answer.

Rey looks out the edge of the cliff, over the crashing waves. She thinks maybe she should jump. The tears boil over but Kylo licks them from her cheeks, from the corners of her eyes. In that moment, she wants nothing more than to turn around and submit to him. To let him swallow her in darkness.

But she can’t.

She won’t.

“Kriff you then,” she hisses, fists clenched.

She turns around and walks straight through him back down the way she came.

*

Rey has plenty of time to think on her way down the mountain: plenty of time to try and talk herself out of it. But this whole thing has gone too far now and if Kylo Ren won’t give her what she needs, she knows someone else who will.

“Don’t do it,” snarls Kylo Ren in her ear. He’s trying to control her, trying to frighten her, but she hears the tremor in his voice, the rising panic. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Watch me.” She gives him the mental equivalent of the bird.

A storm has set in. Just as the rain begins pattering on the earth, she finds Luke behind the cabin picking fruit off the low hanging branches of what few trees he has managed to cultivate. Before she can change her mind, she marches up to him – her mentor, her teacher, her only flesh and blood companion on this Force-forsaken island – and kisses him.

Luke resists at first but he’s no match for her hunger, her unrelenting need. He drops the basket he’s holding, fruit tumbling around their feet, and kisses her back with equal fervour, pulling her hard against him, his fingers tangling in the three buns at the back of her head. She bites his lips but he bites her back. He moans into her mouth like a dying man, his beard scraping against her, and it’s hot and messy and who knew Jedis could kiss like this? 

“It’s not me you want,” groans Luke, breaking the kiss, and yet he doesn’t let go of her, his hands clutching the front of her tunic and shaking with the effort of not touching her.

“It’s you I need.” She kisses him again. “I need this. We _both_ need this.”

The first crack of lightning. They stumble back inside the cabin, tearing off each other’s clothes, and Kylo Ren is losing his mind in the back of her head – she can feel him shouting and screaming and breaking things. His rage is the inner most circle of hell but it only urges her on. The heat in her veins is like nothing she's ever experienced. She wills it to consume her.

She shoves Luke back onto his cot and climbs onto him, her mouth fastening to his, her dripping core grinding against the hard ridge of his cock. He whines into her mouth, broken and needy, his hands tracing the line of her back before settling on her hips and helping her move on him. Jaw slack, eyes scrunched, his head falls back into the pillows when she moves just right, sliding along the weeping crown of him. He can’t help hissing through his teeth, and she smiles.

For once, she's the one in control.

_“You slut!” screeches Kylo Ren, and she can see his lightsaber in his hand, the burning red, the scalding heat. But he’s Force-knows where in the universe and she isn’t afraid of him._

She decides to give the reluctant voyeur a show. She scoots down Luke’s body, pressing biting kisses down his neck, down his chest, his stomach, giving him no doubt where she intends to go. When she takes his throbbing cock in hand, he keens. She wastes no time running her tongue up the length of him, circling the head and dipping into the slit. He tastes salty like the raging storm over the ocean. She decides she likes it, decides she needs more, and so she makes a tight fist around the base of him and swallows him down.

Luke nearly jolts off the cot. “Oh Rey. Sweetheart. Oh Force!”

_“You slut! You kriffing whore!” Kylo Ren swings the lightsaber down, cutting through bed sheets, through metal, through anything in his path. But he can’t touch her. Can’t have her._

Rey crawls back up the bed and kisses Luke once again, letting him taste himself on her tongue. Their teeth and tongues clash and she grinds herself on his cock once again, revelling in the sweet friction against her clit. But it’s not enough and she can’t wait any longer. She hoists herself up on her knees and reaches down between them, taking his cock in hand. Very deliberately, she rubs the head along her entrance, coating it in slickness and drawing a shudder from them both. Only then does she meet his eyes and position him at her entrance. Only then does she begin to inch her way down.

He’s not the first man she’s been with and so she doesn’t waste any time. Once she’s fully seated on him, his hipbones digging into the underside of her thighs, she starts to move, starts to ride him with a long deep strokes that have him bucking up and meeting her thrust for thrust. The sounds they’re making are hysterically loud despite the rain lashing against the roof, the wind howling through the trees. She feels a raw connection with Luke: like two broken pieces of glass that might have once fit together. It's nothing and yet somehow it's everything.

_“Don't kid yourself. It’s nothing. He’s nothing. You’re nothing!”_

Kylo’s fury flares anew and Rey finds herself leaning forward, her hands closing around Luke’s throat. His eyes crack open and he looks up at her with lust-blown pupils. When her thumbs press against his windpipe, he makes a sound of utter desperation and she feels him harden within her, hips spearing upwards, fingers digging deep into her hips.

 _“Kill him. Choke the life out of him_.”

Rey feels her grip tighten on Luke’s windpipe. His face goes pink then red then purple, but she’s fucking him faster now, her body angled perfectly on his cock.

“Force, Rey. Harder. Do it harder,” grits Luke.

Rey tightens her grip and the look on Luke’s face is agony and ecstasy, his eyes locked on hers, his mouth hanging in an ‘o’. The sounds of their bodies slapping together are wet and filthy and she can feel his pulse thundering under her fingers in time with her own. His vision must be spotting but one hand reaches for her clit and the steady friction of his fingers coupled with the heel of his hand against her public bone is enough to set her on the edge.

_“It should be me.” Kylo’s voice is murderous but she can see him opening his pants, his fingers making a fist around his cock. He jerks himself in time with her thrusts and she knows this won’t last much longer..._

Rey comes with a shout, her cunt clenching tight around Luke’s cock. Her hand loosens on his throat and he takes the opportunity to pull her down in a searing kiss, his hips jerking, his cock pulsing, as he too finds release and spills deep within her.

_In the back of her mind, she sees Kylo explode: hot ropes of come splashing the wall and dripping over his hands. The look on his face is one of utter defeat and she knows she has won._

*

Afterwards, when the storm has passed, Rey walks naked to the waterfall and stands in front of the mirror rigged to the rocks, Luke’s seed drying on the inside of her thighs. She leans into the cascade and splashes her face with water. When she looks back into the mirror, she swears she can see _his_ face reflected behind her in the darkness.

“Tell me you love me,” pleads Kylo Ren, his arms twining around her, his lips pressing against her neck. “Tell me you hate me. Tell me you feel something.” He trails off, his voice broken as if on the verge of tears.

She feels a moment of sympathy but quickly buries it. He’s made his choice and she’s made hers. 

“I feel nothing.” She spits on the ground.

Still, she can’t help thinking that if angels can fall, maybe, just maybe, devils can learn to fly. 


End file.
